


Holier than Thou

by Myalpha



Series: Carpe Diem Baby [2]
Category: Supernatural, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, Anal Sex, Angels exist, Crossover, First Time, M/M, Post season 3a, Praise Kink, Psychological Trauma, Set in the Supernatural'verse, Superwolf
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-15
Updated: 2014-02-17
Packaged: 2017-12-29 11:34:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1004952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Myalpha/pseuds/Myalpha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The news media are calling it a "global meteor shower". Stiles Stilinski isn't stupid. He knows it must be something supernatural. There's no other explanation.</p><p>But nothing he could possibly uncover could prepare him for how it will affect him personally, or for the two new hunters who roll into town to investigate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this is a continuation of a previous drabble I wrote, back by popular demand (or something). But don't worry, this is kinda more an extension of the 'verse, rather than an actual sequel, so you really don't need to read it to understand anything.
> 
> Its assumed you have knowledge of the end of Season 8 of Supernatural, but there's no spoilers for the new season (yet). 
> 
> Also yes, I am continuing with my theme of naming stories after Metallica songs. Wanna fight about it?

It all started on Reddit. Stiles would like to be able to tell some grand, romantic tale about how it started all somewhere exciting, on a dark road or in a forest somewhere. But that would be a lie. It really did all start in his room, late one ordinary school night. The sun hadn't even been set an hour, and Stiles was hard at work on his homework.

Well, no, that's also a lie.

Stiles was hard at work browsing the internet for humorous gifs and porn, like any self-respecting teenage boy would be when he had a large, unfinished essay due the next day.

So yeah, he was scrolling through Reddit, his fingers flicking up in an almost soothing repetitive motion on the keypad of his macbook as he leaned comfortably back in his chair, his spare hand tapping out an ever-changing rhythm on his leg. Really, he was only paying half attention to the text and images as they scrolled past. Until suddenly the internet exploded. 

Well not literally, obviously, but Stiles would argue it was a close thing. The first clue for him that something strange was up was that almost every single new post appearing were photographs of what looked like odd shooting stars – and it only spread from there. Clicking off Reddit, he opened Twitter, Tumblr, Facebook, and it was all the same stuff, photographs of a skyscapes filled with shooting stars, accompanied by captions like “wtf is going on” and “omg so pretty”.

So naturally, he leapt up, practically throwing his chair aside in his haste, and scrambled to the window. Drawing up the venetian blinds and peering up at the sky, it was obvious the phenomenon, whatever it was, was happening over beacon hills. The sky was lit up with hundreds of streaks of golden light, leaving trails across the night sky like a Van Gogh painting. Stiles jerked away from the window, grabbed his phone from the desk, and bolted down the stairs like his life depended on it while at the same time trying to dial Derek's number.

“Dude,” he huffed into the phone as Derek answered, having only just made it outside, “have you seen the sky”.

Theres the sound of Derek moving around a room, and then a breathy “Holy shit”.

“I know right?” Stiles replied. “The internet's going crazy, calling it a global meteor shower, but theres no way in hell I believe that” he continued to babble.

“Well what is it then?” Derek asked, tensely. Stiles knew instinctively Derek wasn't being brusque intentionally, that rather he was just on-edge – a side effect of being completely incapable of handling change well.

“I don't know dude, I haven't had time to look. I just thought I should let you know something was happening first, considering you are the Alpha and all.”

“Well, thanks, Stiles”, came the reply, almost gentle in comparison, “let me know when you find something”.

“Will do”. The teen replied, before the phone went dead.

\- - - - 

But Stiles didn't find anything. Nobody did.

Predictably, the news media stuck to the whole 'meteor shower' shtick. Stiles didn't believe it for a second.

He wasn't alone. The internet was filled with skeptics, citing the fact that there were no reports of people finding actual physical remains of the meteors, that the whole event was completely unpredicted by scientists and that NASA couldn't find a reason why they had failed to notice a meteor shower of such a dramatic proportion. In short, the whole occurance was quite frankly impossible.

The downside was that with all the hype clogging up the search engine results, trying to sift through it all to find actual lore or theories that weren't claiming it was a government conspiracy, or sign of the apocalypse, or some nonsense became almost thoroughly useless.

He knew it must be linked to the supernatural somehow, that it must be something massive. He wasn't stupid. At the same time, the absolutely massive nature of it kind of gave Stiles a creeping suspicion that it was outside of his supernatural pay-grade. Werewolves, Alphas, mythical were-lizards – those things came with the territory... But something that could cause a global astronomical phenomenon? That was something of a completely different scale.

Despite the research being a painfully slow process, and despite the fact that Stiles was pretty sure it concerned events he had no business in messing with, he just couldn't let it drop. Any other person probably would have. Stiles being Stiles, simply couldn't. Just like he couldn't just shrug away his curiosity when Scott was first turned, or when the Darach started performing sacrifices. It not being technically his responsibility didn't stop him. He was always big on Spiderman, after all, “with great power comes great responsibility” and all that... and as Sir Frances Bacon said,“knowledge is power” after all.

He was well aware Scott thought he was crazy for worrying so much about it. Stiles really doesn't stop to give that any weight though, on account of Scott didn't worry about all the weird symptoms which went hand-in-hand with turning into a freaking werewolf until it was too late, so he really didn't get a say on what not to worry about anymore.

Derek, on the other hand, definitely understood. God, wasn't that a weird concept – Derek understanding Stiles better than Scott did. But Stiles supposes this is what it was all building up to. All the tension, all the pigtail-pulling, all the little disagreements and all the caring about each other more than each of them cared about their own personal safety. It was practically impossible for them to come out of the last year as anything other than firm friends, if not more. And damned if Stiles occasionally (in the safety of his room late at night) found himself hoping it was building to more. 

Thats not the point, though, the point is that Derek got it. He knew what it was like to feel powerless, to feel like you were permanently standing in a guillotine waiting for the knife to drop – waiting for the next terrible thing to happen that you have to try and battle. Derek totally got that Stiles needed this, needed to feel some semblance of preparation and control. Because both Derek and Stiles are the kind of person to feel responsible for every bad thing they failed to prevent. Their reasons might be different, Derek knew this – that for Stiles its about protecting the people that he cares about, and for Derek its all about penance – but that doesn't change the fact that their methods are the same.

So Derek tried to help Stiles, where he could, not that he knew much. He really hadn't paid any attention to his supernatural heritage, to the stories his mother and father tried to drill into him, until it was too late. He would have considered asking Peter, but he'd mysteriously vanished again (and Derek knew it was 'good riddance' as far as Stiles was concerned). Despite Derek's help, even between them, they reached a dead end.

So for days, literally days, nothing happened, No progress was made, no answers were found. The world didn't end, which was something at least, but did little to alleviate the tension Stiles could feel stretching across his shoulders. Until one night, Derek crawled in through Stiles' bedroom window toting a carrier-bag of books, and dumped them on Stiles' bed.

The covers all look like some kind of odd horror/harlequin novel mashup, half-naked men standing provocatively in front of cars and dilapidated buildings, and there were at least twenty-five of them.

“They have good feedback on the internet” Derek explained defensively when he caught Stiles raised eyebrows and sarcastic smirk, “some experts say they're actually pretty accurate when it comes to mythological lore”.

Picking a book at random, Stiles started scanning the blurb on the back. “Supernatural, hey” he mused. Shrugging, he cracked open the first page “worth a try I guess”. 

He grabbed another book with his free hand and tossing it at Derek, who caught it deftly in one hand. “Well, get reading” Stiles ordered him cheekily.

\- - - -

Stiles never expected to actually enjoy doing things together with Derek. I mean sure, he'd admit they were friends now – Stiles had pushed for that much the second Derek returned to Beacon Hills after the Alpha Pack mess, because they way he figured it you couldn't save each other's lives that many times and just forget about each other.

'Friends', however, for some reason never translated to 'hanging out and watching movies on a friday night'. Or doing anything together at all really, come to think of it. Which didn't realise surprise Stiles, to be perfectly honest, because honestly he couldn't even begin to speculate what Derek's hobbies would be. Probably just brooding in corners and browsing Amazon for clothes on monochrome color palettes (because Stiles knew for a fact that Derek didn't have a TV or a computer, which to be honest says a lot).

Its easy to understand, therefore, why Stiles was honestly a little taken aback when Derek started appearing at his window almost every night, latest Supernatural novel in tow. 

The first night Derek slipped through the window without warning, holding a book in one hand, Stiles ended up staring awkwardly at him for at least several seconds, waiting for him to do something to announce why he was even there. Without saying a word, Derek plopped himself down on the bed and started to read where he'd left off. When Stiles continued to stare, instead of going back to the homework he had been doing on his computer, Derek just raised an eyebrow at him, as if to say “I don't get what you don't understand”. After ten more minutes of the same, and zero progress made on his homework, Stiles eventually shut down his computer with a sigh, gave a mental shrug, grabbed his latest Supernatural book from the desk, and threw himself down on the bed next to Derek – ordering him to move over to make space for the two of them.

From there, the whole 'sitting in companionable silence reading' actually became a thing. Stiles even found himself enjoying it – looking forward to it, even. Well, relative silence, at least – it didn't take long for Stiles to start a running commentary on whichever book he was reading. Well, commentary may be too intellectual a term for what was really happening, which to be honest mostly consisted of Stiles mocking the more ridiculously implausible parts of the novels. Derek would only ever respond with an eyebrow raise and a long suffering sigh, but Stiles could totally tell the corner of his mouth was twitching in a way which suggested he secretly enjoyed it.

In addition to being kinda pleasantly surprised the man actually had a sense of humour, Stiles was shocked to discover Derek was actually a really proficient reader. Of all the secret hobbies he'd imagined Derek having, reading was definitely not one of them. Home renovation, possibly... exercising, definitely. Watching and playing sport, or working on cars? But never reading. It just wasn't typical alpha-male behaviour (although, Stiles was fast realising Derek really wasn't who he thought he was). 

The one time Stiles actually decided to make a joke about how he never expected Derek to be able to read so well, he's surprised the man actually goes on the defensive a little, explaining that he was actually a history and literature major in college. Stiles was so shocked by that. He'd never even imagined the werewolf going to college, let alone doing such an artsy-type major. Derek points out that Stiles shouldn't be so surprised, that Derek really isn't who Stiles thought he was, and that there are plenty of things Stiles doesn't know about him and has never asked about. Stiles, well, he was still attempting to come to terms with that.

\- - - -

Its a week later, when something finally changes.

Derek and Stiles are stretched out together on the bed. Not in a weird way, of course, just in a 'hey, we're bro's hanging out' kind of a way. Stiles is half way through 'Heaven and Hell”, the thirty-freaking-second Supernatural book – not that they were actually reading them in order (but there was no doubt it was a good thing Stiles was so emotionally invested in the characters because damn, thats still a freaking heap of books to try to get through). Suddenly, there it was. Right there in black and white, the only clear answer they'd had since this whole mess began. The page was describing Anna Milton, an angel in that particular novel, and her fall to earth after giving up her place in heaven. The description, of the falling angel looking like a meteor, and of something clearly looking like it hit the earth but leaving no trace... completely, 100% sounded exactly like what they'd seen just over a week ago.

“Holy shit, dude” Stiles explained, jerking himself upright violently and making the whole bed sway. He flailed the arm holding the book, page still held open, in the general direction of Derek's face.

“Look, look right here,” he continued excitedly, stabbing his finger at a section of the text, “an angel was mistaken for a meteor when they fell from heaven.”

Derek just gives him a mildly derisive look. “You aren't honestly trying to convince me angels are real, are you?” he asked.

“Well, its certainly the best thing we have to go on so far,” Stiles replies defensively. “And besides, you're a freaking werewolf, buddy, I don't think you get a say on fictional-ness.”

It was pretty clear from Derek's expression that he was alternating somewhere between baffled and amused. “Fine, okay,” Stiles sighed after a few seconds, “we'll keep looking...”

At least, he fully intended to keep looking... but that's when everything started to go to shit.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter ends at the point where 'Of Wolf and Man' (the first work in this series) begins. If you are so inclined you can read that immediately afterwards to get the entire picture. So after this chapter, we're off into the unknown!
> 
> Also warning for like, peoples minds being fucked with (I guess?). And some mildly described gore, if you're squeamish.

Stiles was asleep, in bed, alone, when he first became aware of it. He'd suddenly been jerked into consciousness not long prior, his nearby phone reading “3.32am” in large, luminous text. He was no stranger to waking up from panic attacks and nightmares – both his mother's death and the 'darkness' caused by the Nemeton had seen to that – but right then it was no nightmare which woke him. It was instantly obvious, because his heart rate and breathing were perfectly steady, and his sheets practically unmussed, that the answers for his fitful sleep lay elsewhere.

 

So naturally, being a lackey of the local werewolf pack, the second thing he did was haul himself upright and check his room for furry visitors lurking in darkened corners – even though it was pretty clear right from the start that he hadn't woken out of shock or panic. Still nothing. No glowing red eyes, no ominous growling, not even a cracked-open window.

 

Stiles let out an annoyed sigh, frustrated at himself for waking. He was going to be so goddamn tired tomorrow at this rate. He was just about to roll over, cocoon himself in blankets, and go back to sleep when he heard it. A faint, shrill beeping. _Beep... Beep... Beep_. Like a heart monitor. He shook his head to clear his mind, figuring he was probably just hearing things. It didn't help. The sound was still there

 

Kicking the blankets from off of his legs, the teen heaved himself out of bed and stumbled drowsily towards the light switch. He'd seen way too many goddamn freaky supernatural things to feel safe walking around in the darkness these days.

 

Flicking the switch, he noted that his room all looked normal; perfectly in place and exactly how he'd left it when he went to bed – complete with books scattered across the floor and piles of paperwork, energy drink and candy wrappers littering the desk.

 

Opening the door, the beeping sound grew louder. It sounded like it was coming from up the hall.

 

He followed it to the guest room – where his mother used to have her sewing space, back when she was still alive. It still held most of her possessions – the Sheriff couldn't bare to get rid of it all, but couldn't bare to be confronted with it all day at the same time, so it all got boxed up and left in the spare room.

 

Hand on the door, Stiles could tell the beeping was coming from inside. His hand was sweaty and trembling on the brass door handle. Fumbling his grip as he tried to turn it, it ended up taking two hands for Stiles to ease the door open (quietly so as not to wake his father, that was definitely the last thing he wanted to deal with at 3.30am).

 

He was in no way prepared for what was inside. It was like stepping right in to a hospital. There were cables and IV lines and medical monitors everywhere, all making shrill, constant beeping that set Stiles' teeth on edge. And that wasn't even the worst part. The worst part lay in the bed – still strangely looking exactly like their guest bed, complete with outdated pine frame and 80s-style floral coverlet. The worst part was the frail-looking brunette woman who appeared to be hooked up to all these machines.  
  
“M-mom” he croaked out. He could feel all the signs of an oncoming panic attack: knew his hands were trembling, his breaths were coming rapidly, and his chest was starting to feel tight.

 

The woman turned to him, reaching up a pale, gaunt hand towards him. “It's you, Stiles. You're special. You're chosen”.

 

Stiles shook his head violently in shock and disbelief. He turns aside, bracing both his arms against the wall as he felt his legs in danger of giving way. Closing his eyes be tries to clear his mind and breathing deeply, trying to reign in his panic. “It can't be” he murmured to himself, “it's not real. None of it is real”.

 

Thirty seconds later, when Stiles could feel the worst of the panic sloughing away he turned back, but the woman was gone. Stiles blinked to make sure, but the woman and the medical equipment were definitely gone.

 

Stumbling back to his own room, it was a long time before Stiles could fall back to sleep.

 

\- - - -

 

The next day Stiles was tired as hell. His eyes had circles under them so dark that Scott (poor, oblivious Scott) asks who Stiles had gotten into a fight with, and barely even believed him when Stiles had just insisted it was a poor nights sleep.

 

“I thought the Nemeton wasn't affecting your sleep anymore?” Scott asked as he slid into his seat just in time for first-period english. At least Ms Blake's replacement, a doddering older woman, was generally too hard of hearing to notice any chatter.

 

“I'm fine, man” Stiles replied dismissively.

 

“I can tell when you are lying, you know?” Scott reminded him, frowning.

 

“Its not a lie dude. I'm fine. Its nothing. I just stayed up late gaming, is all” Stiles replies, slumping down at his desk and shoving his face closer to his textbook, the a blatant attempt to non-verbally communicate 'I don't want to talk about it'. Scott just sighed and frowned out the window, clearly unsatisfied and unconvinced.

 

Truth was, while Stiles really didn't believe it was nothing, he really, really didn't want to talk about it. He and his father had spent way too many years avoiding the topic of Claudia for Stiles to feel comfortable just spilling his guts to everyone about it. Stiles was just too tired to deal with dredging up memories about his mom.

 

So thats why he went straight home after school, instead of doing something sensible like going to ask Deaton about it, and thats why he vowed to keep it secret from the pack. He figured they'd all just make a big deal of it, and not even in an 'imminent-supernatural-doom' way but in a 'poor Stiles and his feelings' way, and he'd never be able to convince them to let it drop.

 

\- - - -

 

Stiles could tell before he got inside the house that his dad wasn't home when he returned from school later that day, solely because there was no police cruiser parked on the driveway or street outside. This wasn't exactly surprising – Stiles didn't always remember what shifts the Sheriff had during any given week and although usually he did his best to memorise the schedule he'd been horribly distracted this week - so it was no surprise he didn't remember. Checking the kitchen, Stiles found a note left pinned to the fridge explaining that his dad would be home later that night, and that he shouldn't wait to eat dinner with him.

 

Removing the note and tossing it away, Stiles decides that he's definitely going to need some extra help if he intends on staying awake past 5pm tonight, so he leans in to the depths of the fridge and unearths a can of energy drink from the stash he'd been hiding there. Not that the Sheriff would actually be tempted to drink energy drinks, but Stiles knew that if he saw Stiles with some, he'd demand something equally unhealthy in return.

 

Closing the refrigerator, he immediately cracked open the can, and began to sip at it as he made his way up the stairs towards his room. He makes it halfway up before he pauses, mid-step, can still lifted to his lips.

 

He could hear the shower running in his Dad's bathroom.

 

“Dad,” he called out, “Dad is that you?”

 

There was no answer.

 

Still holding the drink in one hand, he made his way to the top of the stairs. It was definitely the shower which was running, he could see the steam now, curling around his father's bedroom door and out into the landing at the top of the staircase. Which was weird, because his father never showered with the bathroom door open – the Stilinskis had always been somewhat prudish about nakedness.

 

Peeking his head through the doorway of his fathers bedroom, he notices that while the en-suite door is mostly closed, its still slightly ajar. Another really weird occurrence.

 

“Dad?” Stiles called out again, voice slightly unsteady this time. “Shouldn't you be at work?”

 

That's when the humming started. A soft, high sound, far too high to be a male. Stiles thought he dimly remembered the melody, an old song his mother used to be fond of – an old gospel song called “Down to the River to Pray”.

 

“...Mom” Stiles called out, his voice cracking half way through the word.

 

He stepped into the room, moving tentatively closer to the bathroom door. All the while, the humming and sound of running water continued. The second he got close enough to lay his hand upon the bathroom doorknob, however, the noise completely stops. No humming, no running water sound, nothing.

 

Hesitantly, afraid of what he might see, Stiles slowly pushes the door open further with trembling hands. There's nothing there. No shower running, no water droplets covering the glass of the shower cubicle, not even the slightest wisp of steam.

 

He breathed out a deep sigh of relief. Closing the door, properly this time so it closed with a sharp click, he turned away and wiped his trembling, sweaty hands on his jeans.

 

He took a step towards the exit, and all of a sudden the sound of water was back. This time, however, there was no humming, and for some reason Stiles maybe even found that creepier. Gathering his resolve he turned back.

 

There was blood seeping out from underneath the door, soaking into the carpet at Stiles' feet.

 

Stiles bit back a cry of shock. He drops the half-empty can of drink, hands sweating so profusely and shaking so badly that it became impossible to grip it - he'd almost completely forgotten he was holding it. The toxic-green colored liquid spills onto the carpet, mixing with the bloodstains.

 

He opened the door once more, now finding it nearly impossible to turn the handle. Inside, the water continues running in the shower. The shower and tiles were covered with blood. Blood was swirling in the still-running water, trickling down the drain. Blood was seeping out of the shower cubicle, forming rivulets along the grout lines and making their way out of the bathroom and dripping down onto the carpet of the bedroom.

 

Suddenly, he felt like he had a weight crushing his chest. His sight grew dizzy, colors and shapes blending and melting together as the room spun. He closed his eyes in a futile attempt to fend off the feeling.

 

The minute he closed his eyes, he found memories rushing into his head. Memories of a younger him, sitting alone on an uncomfortable plastic chair in a hospital waiting room, watching the doctors and nurses run past frantically. Memories of him hearing snatches of scattered conversation, not really understanding what exactly they were saying but knowing instinctively that it was something horribly bad.

 

“ _She slipped and fell in the shower...”_

 

“ _...massive head trauma...”_

 

“ _...lost too much blood.”_

 

“ _The specialist isn't sure if she'll ever wake...”_

 

“ _It was her kid who found her. He's only eight, the poor dear.”_

 

“ _That's her son over there...”_

 

Stiles couldn't breathe, couldn't get enough air. He felt like he was gasping, and yet nothing was helping. In panic, his eyes snapped open. He could hear his heart pounding like a rabbits – so fast, in fact, that he was truly afraid he was going to have a heart attack and die. Everything in him was telling him that he had to get out of the room, right that very second.

 

On weak, shaking legs, he bolted from the room. He managed to slam the bedroom door closed behind him before his legs gave way and he collapsed to the floor in the corridor, back against a wall. Drawing his knees up to his chest, he curled himself up into a ball, still gasping for breath and shaking. Despite thinking that was going to die, it never occurred to him to call anyone for help – the fear of making a fool of himself, of disappointing everyone , or seeming unworthy somehow far outweighed his fear of death.

 

\- - - -

 

Derek was well accustomed to slipping through Stiles' window at all hours of the day and night. He knew Stiles' secretly looked forward to it, these days at least – he hadn't sensed anything but contentment (and occasional teenage lust) upon his arrival since the very first time when he'd slammed Stiles into the door and threatened him. So he was shocked by the feeling sheer terror he sensed upon entering that night. He scanned the room, but Stiles was nowhere to be found. Focussing, he could hear Stiles' heartbeat just outside the door. Something was wrong, Derek could feel it.

 

Barrelling through the door and into the hallway, Derek finds the teen curled up on the floor, back to the wall, with his head between his knees. The boy didn't even seem to register his arrival. Stiles' heart was beating like crazy, and his breathing was erratic.

 

Derek was pretty sure that he was having a panic attack. Derek himself used to experience them for a few years after the fire. He'd never had to coach someone else through one though, Laura had her own ways of coping with the pain. So while Derek had a vague idea what to do, he had literally no practical experience.

 

“Stiles?” Derek asked, as mildly as he could manage (which still came across too forceful in his own ears).

 

The teen didn't move.

 

Derek took a few steps forward, and crouched down in front of him. He reached out to lay a hand on each of Stiles' shoulders.

 

“Stiles” he repeated. “Stiles, I need you to breathe. Can you do that for me?”

 

The teen's eyes snapped open, his body jerking and his heart beating faster before his eyes came to rest on Derek's face. He nodded, and Derek began to take exaggerated breaths, encouraging Stiles to copy him. Satisfied that Stiles' was trying to go along with it, Derek felt his own panic a subside a small amount.

 

Eventually, the boy calmed down enough that Derek was satisfied the worst of it was over, that there was no longer any immediate danger.

 

Stiles tried to rise under his own power, but his legs were still weak and shaky, and he ended up stumbling a bit as he tried to stand. Instinctively, Derek reached out to steady him, wrapping an arm around his torso and leading him to sit on Stiles' bed.

 

“Scott was worried about you,” Derek said after a few minutes of silence, by way of explanation, “so I came over to check on you”.

“I'm fine,” Stiles' insists firmly.

 

Derek frowns. He's not a moron. Its quite obvious it's not just nothing, its clearly something very important. Derek, just like everyone else, was aware that the panic attacks Stiles had experienced after the thing with the Nemeton had finally stopped, and that there must be some new threat.

 

At the same time, Derek wasn't going to argue. He knew what it was like to need your own secrets and your own space. It just hurt, for some reason, that Stiles' wouldn't trust him with this, after all they'd been through together.

 

But he knows an argument isn't what Stiles' needs right now, is well aware that pushing for an answer is likely only going to make it worse, and definitely isn't going to help. So he lets it go, and just sits next to Stiles – a one werewolf vigil.

 

After a long while, Stiles insisted he'd be fine, and tried to shove Derek away. There was no way Derek was going to leave him all alone until his Dad comes home. He does, however, retreat to the office chair and pick up a book, so as not to crowd Stiles too much.

 

Derek scarpers out the window the second he hears the Sheriff's key turning in the lock.

 

Nobody breathes a word of any of it to Stiles' dad.

 

\- - - -

 

That night, before sleeping, Stiles slipped downstairs and retrieved the road salt his father had stockpiled in the garage – a sensible safety precaution for the sheriff of a northern Californian town.

 

Stiles was shaken and paranoid, and definitely not taking any chances. So he ringed his room in salt before he slept. He didn't have the first clue what it was that he was seeing – whether it was supernatural or just Stiles' abused mind finally cracking – but it was definitely better to be safe than sorry, and if there was one thing Stiles' learned from the Supernatural book series it was that salt was effective against nearly everything.

 

He was well aware Derek and Deaton would probably think he was being ridiculous, but at this stage he honestly didn't give any fucks about that.

 

It was all for naught, because later that night he's woken by a figure in his room. A figure who looks like his mom. The woman was standing behind the bed, reaching a hand out towards him, almost cupping his cheek.

 

“You are special,” she whispered, “you are chosen”.

 

This time he did let out a strangled scream, and threw himself violently backwards across the bed, away from her.

 

“You're dead!” he choked out, voice high pitched and trembling.

 

Stiles reaches for his phone, fingers fumbling as he tried to navigate the menu and bring up his list of contacts. It takes way too long for him to pull up Derek's number.

 

“Help,” he whimpered into the phone the second he heard the click of the line connecting.

 

“I'm on my way” was the immediate reply.

 

\- - - -

 

The second Derek clambered into Stiles' bedroom, he took a deep breath, and began to explain everything. When he was finished, Stiles was feeling more than a little panicked, and Derek clearly looked on-edge. No, Stiles mentally amended, Derek looked seconds away from completely wolfing-out.

 

Without warning, the werewolf grabs Stiles, hauls him upright from his previous spot seated on the edge of the bed, and wraps two strong arms around him. Derek buries his whole face into Stiles' neck, and Stiles was pretty sure he was taking deep, heaving breaths.

 

Stiles was just about to make some kind of a joke about it, when Derek pulled back, searching Stiles' face for something, before pulling the teen' closer again and dragging his stubble across his cheek.

 

Stiles' heart skips. Because holy shit, he was pretty sure Derek was scenting him, reassuring himself Stiles' was safe and injury-free. And while Stiles' is definitely, way on board with the hugging and the extremely close facial proximity, he really wasn't sure what to think. He's pretty sure it had to just be a werewolf pack thing, right? There was no way it was an actual affection thing like what Stiles' heart (and dick) were clearly thinking. And goddamnit was that a bad time for Stiles' dick to start taking an interest, seriously he was supposed to be traumatised surely that was supposed to give his teenage libido a pass for at least twenty minutes. Stiles' tried to wiggle away from Derek's vicelike grip, before the man noticed his awkward problem, but Derek was having none of it, merely burying his face in Stiles neck once more.

 

Just to make things even more awkward for Stiles, Derek insists on staying with Stiles the rest of the night, crowding into bed with him with a gruff “roll over, Stiles'.

 

At least, Stiles muses, for the first time in days he was more worried about awkward morning wood than random apparitions, so he supposed that was something at least.

 

\- - - -

 

Stiles tried not to be too hopelessly disappointed when Derek's presence made no difference. Its not like he expected just having a werewolf around would make that much of a difference to whatever weird thing kept happening to him. But at the same time he couldn't lie and say it wasn't disappointing, because twice in one day kind of was depressing, not to mention horribly wearing.

 

He felt like he'd only just gotten to sleep when he got woken the second time. Derek's presence didn't seem to phase the apparition at all (assuming it was even an apparition and not just Stiles' mind fracturing into a million tiny pieces – which might make sense of how Derek didn't end up woken).

 

The woman is in his room again, standing at the foot of his bed this time. She was wearing a colorful, eastern european looking dress, which Stiles' recognised as one of his mom's favourites when she was still alive. That in itself was kind of weird – usually dead people in visions, or ghosts even, dressed in white.

 

Regardless, the woman was standing at the foot of his bed, her arm reaching out to him, palm facing him, as if she intended to cup his cheek in her hand. Stiles wiggles free of the werewolf-come-octopus who currently has him trapped in a tight cuddle. Any other time it would be amusing, to think of Derek as a secret cuddler – not, however, when he was currently trying to fend off a supernatural creature.

 

Managing to slide within the cocoon of Derek's arms, Stiles manoeuvred himself into a sitting position.

 

“What do you want?” Stiles demanded of the woman, “Why is Derek still asleep?”

 

“You are still asleep also,” the woman (his mother?) explained placidly, “but that doesn't mean this isn't real.”

 

“No offence, but you're no Dumbledore” Stiles retorted.

 

“No. I'm not, Stiles. Actually, I am an angel” the woman said.

 

“An angel?” Stiles parroted derisively.

 

“Yes. My name is Yomiel.”

 

“Sure, naturally. Well, forgive me for not being more impressed,” Stiles snarked in return.

 

“I'm here because you are special, Stiles,” Yomiel continued, “there are very, very few people like you”.

 

“Well, of course. Not everyone can be this awesome” Stiles said, gesturing dramatically to himself.

 

“You're a vessel. A very powerful vessel” the angel said, carrying on like there hadn't even been an interruption.

 

Stiles sighs deeply before replying. “Wow, another special job for the squishy human hey?”

 

Again heedless to any interruption, as if they aren't even hearing Stiles at all, the angel continues. “I need to take control of your mind and body...”

 

“Uh, no” Stiles interrupts, louder this time, “Let me just stop you there. There is no freaking way I'm letting you inside my head to play. No way, no how. And thats even assuming any of this is real, which I'm really not certain it is.”

 

“You don't understand,” Yomiel sighed, “It is necessary. My people, my brothers, we have been betrayed. I need your strength to help me fight”.

 

“And why the hell would I do something like that?” Stiles bites out, “You seem to know a damn lot about me, so you'll know I already have plenty of battles of my own to fight first”.

 

“Lets put it this way,” the angel answers, voice growing cold and eyes glinting dangerously in the moonlight, “if you don't say yes to me, let me in, I'll go after your father instead. The power is in your blood, after all. How long do you think your poor father will handle the mental torture I've been throwing at you. How long before he caves to escape the horror of reliving his wife's death over, and over, and over.”

 

Stiles glares venomously. If he were a werewolf, his eyes would be red and his mouth fanged. “Don't you ever come near my father,” he bites out, low and harsh, “If I do, I'll personally oversee your destruction. I don't know how, but goddamnit I'll find a way even if it kills me”.

 

The next thing he knew, Yomiel had vanished. Derek didn't wake at all, even when Stiles wiggled back down the bed and settled in back into the circle of the werewolf's arms.

 

 

\- - - -

 

The next day, in the light of morning, tried to convince himself he dreamed the whole thing. He might have succeeded too, if not for the _Supernatural_ novels and the fact that his life was fucking weird, like angels weren't really that far weirder than all the shit he'd already had to deal with.

  
So the next morning, Stiles decided to make pancakes and rant about the situation to Derek. The fact that Derek's face when Stiles tried to explain angels to him would be freaking hilarious was just a bonus.

 

“So, Derek. An angel came to me in a dream last night”

 

Derek nearly spits out his orange juice in shock. “Angels Stiles, really? That's what you're going with. What, run out of pop culture references at last and had to resort to the bible.” He pauses for a second. “Unless it's some kind of terrible pick-up line and you mean me? Oh god, please don't let it be that”.

 

Stiles cracks a half grin, before sobering again. “Seriously, dude, I'm not even kidding. Weird dude, called himself Yomiel, rocked up looking like my dead mom. Threatened to hijack my dad's head if I didn't give him a free ride around in my meat-suit”.

 

Stiles didn't miss the fact that Derek's eyes flashed red, nor the little growl he tried to bite back.

 

“He can't have you” Derek stated forcefully.

 

“Of course not dude. My squishy, human self already belongs to the pack, clearly you lot have first dibs. But we have to do something.”

 

“Well, I'll talk to Peter. Maybe you could phone Argent, get him to make a few calls, see if any of his contacts know anything about angels.”

 

Derek paused for a second, leaving Stiles to go back to flipping pancakes. “I don't want you being alone,” Derek finally demanded.

 

“If you'll remember all the way back to the distant past of last night, Mr Big Bad Wolf, that didn't help me one bit.”

 

Derek sighed. “You don't know that. Maybe he would have done something worse if I hadn't been there. Can you just.. please?”

 

Stiles could hear the plea of _'I can't lose anyone else_ _'_ _,_ even though it was left unspoken.

 

\- - - -

 

So that's how Stiles ended up spending most of his day stuck in Derek's boring-ass loft, doing sweet fuck all because Derek was a neanderthal who literally had no television or computer.

 

And thats when he heard the knock at the door.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a short chapter this time guys - figured I'd left you all waiting long enough (also consider this a reassurance that I haven't forgotten this one amidst the excitement of plotting out my latest fic 'Give Him Power')
> 
> Also note, this chapter carries on from "Of Wolf and Man" so you probably need to read that for context.

“Nope. No fucking way.,” exclaimed Stiles, slamming the door in their faces. Well, attempting to slam, anyway, the one referring to himself as 'Dean' had wedged his foot in the doorframe – preventing the door from closing entirely.

 

He can feel Dean pushing back, attempting to force entry, but Stiles braces his own foot and arm against the door as a temporary measure. He'd seen the size of the two of them, knows he wouldn't be able to keep them out forever.

 

“So, Balto,” Stiles starts, fake-cheerily, “what do you say we let these two nutjobs in and see what they really want?”

 

Derek, now dislodged from leaning on Stiles' shoulder, raised an eyebrow at the name as he turned to Stiles and shrugged nonchalantly.

 

“Oh, don't give me that.” Stiles says by way of reply, “I can see it on your face, you're just as curious as I am”.

 

“Now that we've got that nice little deep-and-meaningful out of the way...” Dean sasses from the other side of the door.

 

Stepping in front of Stiles, in what Stiles' assumes is an attempt to protect Stiles from the potential (mostly imagined) threat of the newcomers, Derek knocks Stiles' arm aside and nudges his foot out of the path of the door, before reaching out to swing it open for the duo outside.

 

“Come in, if you must” he barked curtly.

 

\- - -

 

The pair make their way into the loft, running their eyes over every nook and cranny as if they were constantly on high-alert for danger. If Stiles' didn't know better, didn't know they weren't actual FBI, he'd assume professional training. But he knew his dad would have mentioned already if the FBI were in town, particularly if the FBI were in town to question Derek Hale. Because Sheriff Stilinski didn't get to become Sheriff based on his good looks alone. He wasn't stupid. Stiles knew that he knew exactly who his son was hanging out with – who his son had been having late-night conversations in whispered voices with in his bedroom after dark.

 

Eventually, seemingly convinced Derek's home was not in fact filled with a legion of demons or something, they flopped down on the couch like they owned the place.

 

Stiles internally lamented Derek's stupidly spartan decorating policy, which meant this left Derek and Stiles without a seat of their own, before deciding just to perch on the edge of the coffee table and leave Derek standing awkwardly alone. Serves him right, really, Stiles thought.

 

“We'd like to talk to you about the animal attacks” the larger one – Sam – started, his voice far gentler and calmer than the others'.

 

“You mean the murders?” Stiles asked. He was sick of playing games.

 

“Now, why do you say that?” Dean questioned, leaning in closer to the boy and focusing on him intently.

 

“Look, dude, cut the crap okay? My dad's the sheriff. I'd know if the FBI, or any other law enforcement agency for that matter, was in Beacon Hills. Probably before they even knew it themselves. So I know you aren't professionals, that this isn't your job. That only makes you one thing”. Stiles explains forcefully.

 

The sudden silence following that statement is almost tangible.

 

“And... what would that be?” Sam asks, voice still gentle – although this time Stiles can hear tension creeping in.

 

“Hunters” Derek half-spat. Frowning, he turned to Stiles. “Why didn't you tell me?”

 

“Because I knew you wouldn't let them in. And I really needed to know what they wanted. We need to know what we are up against” Stiles explained, eliciting a weary sigh from Derek..

 

Dean and Sam are watching them like hawks. Stiles can almost see the cogs turning in their brains. It won't be long before the connect the lighthearted jokes with the animal attacks and Derek's unease about hunters. It won't be long before they guess, if not know. Stiles needs to distract them, just a while longer.

 

“So, tell me though. Why the second fake names?” Stiles asked them.

 

Dean frowns confusedly in response. Sam frowns too, but in a more resigned and annoyed way.

 

“Look kid,” Dean scowls, “I'm kinda getting tired of your shit okay. Those are our real names. I'm Dean Winchester, and this is my brother, Sam Winchester”.

 

“Yeah, no.” Stiles replied, “I'm not an idiot. I've read the books. My only question is, if you wanted to keep a low profile as hunters, why name yourselves after the two most famous fictional hunters ever”.

 

“Oh god, you've read the books” Dean proclaims frustratedly, before sighing in the direction of the ceiling. “Let me guess, you found them on the internet?”

 

Meanwhile, Sam sits silently, his face contorting into a look of apoplectic rage.

 

“No, actually. Derek here found the whole set in honest-to-god paper form.” Stiles said, continuing heedless of the larger man, before leaning in closer to fake-whisper conspiratorially, “I don't think he even knows how to use the internet”.

 

“Still right here, Stiles...” reminds Derek.

 

“So anyway, pretty stupid of you, really” Stiles concludes.

 

“Those books... they're all real” Sam attempts to explain.

 

Derek leans closer to Stiles, whispering in his ear that they don't sound like they lying, that they're either really good liars or that they really believe it.

 

Stiles stops, turns away with a thoughtful look on his face. “Huh,” he says upon turning back towards them, “well I suppose that would explain all the accurate lore”.

 

“So you're saying you just... believe us?” Dean pushes, incredulous – as if he expected it to be a harder sell.

 

“Yeah, sure. Why not” Stiles replies nonchalantly with a shrug, “wouldn't even make my top-five list of 'weird life events' these days”.

 

Sam and Dean looked entirely taken-aback.

 

“But anyway guys, we appreciate the help – we do – but we work alone” Stiles continues.

 

“Work...?” Dean asks.

 

“Yeah dude. How do you think we know they're really murders? We're hunters too. Well, Derek here is..,” Stiles says, reaching out to smack Derek on the chest – as if they may have forgotten who Derek was, “He comes and goes. Obviously, I'm stuck here most of the time, you know with my Dad and all, so I'm really kind of more... hunter-in-training.”

 

“Bobby never mentioned you...” Sam says, sounding suspicious.

 

“Oh what, were we supposed to go out for drinks at the bar together after work? Well, sorry for missing the team meeting guys.” Stiles retorted.

 

“Stiles...” Derek growled in warning. Stiles could tell Derek wasn't comfortable with his deliberate attempts to rile up the hunters.

 

“Right, right. I'm being nice...” he acquiesced.

 

“So what are we up against?” Sam asks.

“'We' aren't up against anything, dude. **Derek and I** are up against a Kanima. And like I already said, we work alone,” Stiles snapped.

 

Dean looked as if he wanted desperately to say something against this, but couldn't come up with a good reason. After all, it was their territory, their hometown, and if they wanted to go it alone – well Dean and Sam really didn't have the right to force them to do otherwise.

 

“Well... If you're sure...” Dean concedes.

 

“Oh, we're very sure” Derek says forcefully, his tone brooking no argument. “Now, if you don't mind, we do actually have other things to do today” he continued, looking pointedly towards the door.

 

“Right, sure” Dean agrees.

 

“Well, thank you for your time anyway, guys...” Sam says as he and Dean move to stand. Somehow, Stiles is already holding the door to the stairwell open, making it abundantly clear they weren't welcome to stay any longer.  
  
If he never sees those two again, it will be too soon. Stiles didn't need more than two seconds to work out that having the Winchester brothers hanging around town was a bad idea. The novels were way too clear in spelling out, in graphic detail, that Winchesters + werewolves = bad news. 

And Stiles didn't manage to help his pack survive Gerard freaking Argent just to have them done in by fucking book characters of all people.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's finisheeedddd. Finally!
> 
> Note: I've increased the warning, as porn somehow happened, and added relevant tags. So just, if thats not your thing, take note.

Stiles didn't really expect the Winchester brothers to just pack up and leave town. So he really wasn't surprised in slightest when they seemed to stick around. While expecting the Winchesters to simply leave when it was made clear the attacks were none of their business was clearly too optimistic, as far as Stiles and Derek could tell the brothers had brought their lies.

 

Admittedly all Stiles was basing this conclusion on was the fact that nobody had shot at them with arrows or wolfsbane yet.

 

It was really quite tragic how low his standards of things like 'safety' had fallen when you think about it... The Beacon Hills pack barely even bothered getting out of bed in the morning for anything less than a life or death emergency these days.

 

In any case, Stiles would have to have been blind to fail to notice the black Impala continuing to lurk about. Its not like 1967 black Chevrolet Impalas were the standard car of choice for a small Northern Californian town, after all. They'd have been more inconspicuous in a slightly out-modeled Toyota.

 

But Stiles first spotted it while wrestling with an armful of grocery bags in the parking lot of the local Whole Foods (because his dad's health was the _most important_ ). Obviously, vintage Chevrolets were hardly subtle in a place like Beacon Hills at the best of times, and ridiculously less so when surrounded by the economical small cars and environmentally friendly Priuses usually driven by the average Whole Foods customer... And it was even less subtle again when two fully-grown men were crammed into the front seat, peering intently out the windows with all the stealth of an elephant on rollerskates.

 

Stiles was pretty sure - and by 'pretty sure' he was thinking more 99.5 per cent - that they really aren't there to buy wholesome and healthy food. The books are pretty clear regarding Dean's views on salad and salad-related abominations, after all.

 

That said, Stiles was also pretty sure that approaching them and telling them to back off would be a bad move at this point, considering he didn't really have a good enough reason to call them out on their happening to be at Whole Foods. Its not like it wasn't a free country or anything. They'd clearly just chalk it up to humorous coincidence, and Stiles was already in enough shit with Derek just for arousing unnecessary suspicion with all his wolf jokes... he really didn't want to chance any more frowny, judging eyebrows, thank you very much.

 

\- - -

 

Following that day, both he and Derek started seeing the brothers everywhere: coincidentally parked next to them at the local In 'n Out, lingering outside Beacon Hills High one day after school (Stiles kind of enjoyed that one, sending multiple text messages to Derek warning him that they were muscling in on his gig), and even at the video store when they were preparing for pack movie night.

 

Stiles had no idea where they were getting their info, but damn, were they good.

 

His admiration quickly turned to frustration, howver, as the days passed and there remained no sign of them leaving town.

 

Worse - there was no way to prove to the brothers that there was no longer a threat – considering the real threat had already been neutralized way before they'd rolled into town.

 

Morrell would call it an 'impasse'.

 

Deaton would probably shrug and give a dismissive, knowing smile in answer. (Deaton was such a dick at times).

 

Worse still was the fact that while the dreams (or whatever they even were) had yet to return as badly as they did that one awful night, Stiles was barely sleeping and kept waking up screaming, dreaming of his mother's death, his father's death, his own death.

 

Stiles figured Yomiel was going for the whole, 'attempt to wear the puny human down with emotional and physical exhaustion' shtick.

 

It only really got bad one more day, since the night with the vision of his mother – the night he'd called Derek. Yomiel seemed to appear in Stiles' bedroom again, in the form of a middle aged man this time – someone Stiles had never seen in his life before. The mans face was pallid, and his skin looked as if it was being burned away by acid.

 

Yomiel had warned Stiles that he had found a temporary vessel, but that it would not contain his power for much longer, assured him that if he gave in now, his father would live and Stiles would be treated well.

 

Stiles could still hear the blatant, yet unspoken, threat.

 

Derek wasn't faring much better - Stiles had coerced him into spending his nights watching over the Sheriff (tearful blinking and the phrase “only family I have, Derek!” may have been involved). Although, Stiles was pretty sure Derek would never let him alone at night from now on – the teenager had encountered enough trouble just trying to convince the stubborn man to let him attend school as normal.

 

So Derek spent most of his nights either sleeplessly roaming the borders of the Stilinski property, keeping his ears pricked for any sign of unrest or danger, or perched in Stiles' desk chair watching over the boy as he slept.

 

But no danger ever came. At least not the kind which could be battled with claws and teeth.

 

Both Derek and Stiles hated the waiting game with a passion.

 

\- - -

 

Naturally, it all came to a head in the most unexpected of ways.

 

Stiles, being the genius he occasionally was, had put out a police watch notice for a guy matching Yomiel's description (or, well, his vessel's description in any case). Turns out, Yomiel's vessel was a man from the next county over, who'd just up and left his wife and three young kids one day out of the blue.

 

So really, calling in a few fake anonymous tip-offs that he might have been sighted in the area was was child's play to someone as familiar with the Beacon Hills' Sheriff's Department as Stiles Stilinski.

 

It was one week to the day after Yomiel had first confronted Stiles in his room, when the his dad gets a call from the Station, letting him know a local priest claimed to have seen someone matching the missing persons report pass through his church.

 

Stiles, naturally, calls Derek and gets moving immediately.

 

\- - -

 

“I keep telling you, Stiles, we turned down the wrong street back there. You were supposed to take a left!” Derek growled, angrily brandishing a shiny black smartphone in the direction of the boy.

 

“Well excuse me Mr-I-Have-A-Smartphone-And-Unlimited-Data, but some of us don't have Google Maps, on account of stupid werewolves insist on getting me into situations which are hazardous to my phone's health,” Stiles bites back in reply.

 

Stiles comes to a stop, surveying the alley they'd found themselves in.

 

“No, you're right, this definitely doesn't look like the kind of place we'd be likely to find an old church”.

 

“You think?” Derek asks sarcastically, the hint of a smirk crossing his face and one eyebrow raised.

 

“Shut up, you,” Stiles retorts, amused, “nobody likes a know-it-all. Besides, I still don't understand why we had to walk the last few blocks anyway?”

 

“Because otherwise I'd have to pay for parking”

 

Stiles laughs, an honest-to-god deep belly type laugh. “Dude, thats amazing. You drive the most ostentatious car this side of Jackson's Porsche, you've got hundreds of thousands of dollars stashed away in the bank, and you're afraid to pay a dollar for parking?”

 

Derek's expression turns defensive. “... and I don't manage to keep that money by spending it on unnecessary garbage”, he argues.

 

“Look, whatever dude, you're just afraid to admit that it's secretly because you enjoy making your life more difficult than it needs to be – like it some kind of penance for your bad life choices... oh don't give me that look”, Stiles replies in response to Derek's offended expression, “your life choices suck dude”.

 

Derek makes a show of gesturing around them. “You know, Stiles, you're right – my life choices do suck. Because I can't think of a single other explanation for why I'd be lost in this alley with you”.

“Don't lie, you totally love me dude”.

 

Derek turns away, falling silent for just a beat too long. After a pause, he just says “...come on, we're going to be late...” and goes to stride rapidly towards the entrance to the alley.

 

\- - -

 

Stiles has to jog to catch up to the werewolf. But just as he manages it, Derek stops dead still, just short of the main street up ahead.

 

“What is it?” Stiles asks, taking note of the pensive expression on Derek's face.

 

“Shh,” Derek warns, “I can hear something”.

 

Derek is silent for a few seconds, concentrating. “It's the Winchesters,” he announced at last, “they're in the street up ahead”.

 

Stiles cursed. He'd done such a good job of avoiding a further confrontation with them.

 

Derek cocks his head, his expression one of extreme concentration. “Damn.” he exclaimed harshly under his breath. “I think they're in trouble”, he explained to Stiles, louder this time.

 

Stiles finds his feet moving before his brain has even caught up. Within seconds he's out of the alley and into the street, Derek right beside him.

 

Sure enough, the Winchesters were there, backed up against the window of an empty shopfront by a group of three thugs.

 

They didn't look like stereotypical thugs, come to think of it. They looked like average, middle class men who'd just walked out of work. Which was fucking weird right from the start. Because middle aged working men didn't usually form street gangs and beat up passers by.

 

Something was definitely not right.

 

Stiles heard someone call out “hey! What do you think you're doing”. It took him a second to realise he'd been the one to call that out. It took him no time at all after that to realise he'd drawn the attention of at least one the thugs.

 

Stiles attempted to take a step backwards, but the man was gaining on him rapidly – his six foot bulk and power clearly no match for a teenager like Stiles.

 

Stiles found himself desperately wishing he had his baseball bat. Summoning his resolve, he brought his bare hands up into some approximation of a defensive fighting stance.

 

And thats when Derek happened.

  
Funny how Stiles' had almost forgotten Derek was there, he was so silent – at least until he leapt in front of Stiles claws out and fangs barred.

 

Stiles' first thought was a sigh of relief.

  
Stiles' second thought was the sinking feeling accompanying the knowledge that Sam and Dean Winchester had no doubt just noticed Derek's furrier side.

 

And then Derek threw Stiles' would-be attacker into a brick wall, and Stiles' mind kind of blanked.

 

Noticing what had happened, the other two men ran at Derek, who dodged them both. With their attention elsewhere, Sam drew some kind of knife or blade and attempted to charge at their unprotected backs.

 

With Derek and Sam still fending off the trio, and Stiles' feeling rather useless, he noticed Dean doing something to the wall behind him involving what looked blood and weird characters which could be runes arranged in a circle.

 

Stiles kept his eyes trained on Dean as the man slammed his palm down into the center of the mark.

 

There was a brilliant flash of light, and when Stiles could see again the men completely vanished - almost like something out of goddamn Harry Potter.

 

Less than a second later, Sam and Dean had their guns out and trained on Derek.

 

Fuck. And here Stiles was busy hoping they'd have forgotten already.

 

Figuring there was only one thing for it, Stiles decided to return the favor - jumping in front of Derek with his (metaphorical) fangs bared.

 

“Move aside, kid” Dean ordered.

 

“You don't want to get involved.” Sam said, attempting to reason with him.

 

“Leave it, Stiles” Derek bit out. “Look, I'll go along with anything you want as long as you just make sure he's safe – he's only human, I swear...” he continued, addressing the hunters this time.

 

Derek raised his hands in surrender, and made to step around Stiles

 

“No fucking way,” Stiles shouted angrily, blocking Derek once more. “Fuck that! And screw you for suggesting it,” he snapped, whirling on Derek with his finger pointed accusingly.

 

“Look, kid, seriously, you don't know what you're into here.” Dean warns, “Believe me, you should do what he's saying and turn away and leave right now”.

 

“Screw the lot of you,” Stiles exclaims, frustrated. “Derek, for fucks sake, the days when I'd have thrown you under the bus – hell, let you throw yourself under the bus even – are long gone. You mean too much to me for me to just let you throw yourself away like this. You know what going with them means, I know you do. You've read the books just like I have. Its fucking suicide... and I couldn't live with myself if I let you do that! Especially to protect me”.

 

Turning to the Winchesters, he takes a deep breath before continuing, “... and as for you two. Derek just attempted to protect you. He risked his own goddamn safety and life for you... and now you're what, threatening to kill him? What kind of a repayment is that?!”

 

“Kid, he's a monster,” Dean replies, attempting to keep his voice even and rational. His frustration and anger, however, still somehow manages to seep through.

 

“Fuck that noise! The world isn't as goddamn black and white as you like to make out. Case in point, I've just had a motherfucking **angel** come and threaten me and my dad with harm and or death. You tell me how goddamn angels became as evil as sin, huh? Where's your black and white there?” Stiles raged

 

He took a heaving breath and attempting to continue more calmly, but still forcefully - .“And while we're on the topic of evil werewolves, I've seen three of my best friends learn to control their werewolf powers – hell, I've even helped them. Derek here was born a goddamn werewolf, and he's never lost control one single second in his entire fucking life. Moreover, he has a heart of freaking gold” Stiles pauses for a second, as he turned to look at Derek and was startled by the surprised but flattered look on Derek's face.

 

“Look,” Stiles sighed, continuing, “he certainly has his flaws. I mean, who doesn't.. but those flaws don;t make him a monster. Those flaws make him _human._ His supernatural abilities are a tool, not the sum total of his being”.

 

Stiles fell silent, his rant hanging heavy in the air between them like ozone before a storm.

 

Sam opened and closed his mouth a few times, before looking thoughtful and ceasing his attempts to form words.

 

Dean was silent. He turned to look at Sam, and they exchanged a meaningful look, before having a queitly whispered conversation. Stiles would've bet his left arm that Derek could hear what was going on, but Stiles really didn't have a freaking clue. Derek didn't look worried about it, but that wasn't saying much, given he was just about to give himself up for execution.

 

Dean turned back, and addressed Stiles and only Stiles.“We'll be in touch. Don't you or your... _friend..._ skip town” he snapped, spitting out the word 'friend' like a curse, before he and Sam strode resolutely away without looking back.

 

“I'm the Sheriff's son, assholes”, Stiles shouts at their retreating backs, “I couldn't skip town if I tried”.

 

**\- - -**

 

Derek and Stiles sit in awkward silence the whole way back to Derek's loft – the visit to the priest long forgotten.

 

It wasn't until Derek had let Stiles into the apartment that one of them managed to fracture the uncomfortable muteness.

 

“I'm sorry,” Derek said placatingly, his expression schooled to one of contriteness.

 

Stiles pauses, studying Derek's face for a second, then a little longer. He'd never seen Derek so apologetic, nor so open. Before the teen knew it, all his anger had dissipated. This stupidly loyal, hopelessly protective man really had only the best intentions. It really wasn't Derek's fault that all his ideas just generally sucked.

 

Suddenly, he realized he couldn’t imagine his life without Derek in it. It dawned on him with crushing rapidity how close he'd almost come to not having that anymore.

 

Somehow, without him realizing it. Stiles had moved closer to Derek, so their bodies were only inches apart, and Stiles' hands had found their way to gripping the werewolf's trademark leather jacket by the lapels.

 

“How dare you,” Stiles accused, voice slightly fractured with emotion, “how dare you think I could live without you”.

 

“Stiles...” Derek started, eyes belying his outward calm and revealing pent up emotions Stiles would never have expected directed towards him. Affection, for one. Guilt, for another.

 

“No. I'm not listening to you right now.” Stiles announced decisively, hoping he looked more calm than he felt. Inside, his heart was pounding and his nerves roiling. He couldn't rule out the possibility might be misreading the tension in this whole situation, but either way something dramatic was about to happen.

 

Then all of a sudden Stiles' hands were in Derek's hair and Derek was wrapped around Stiles shoulders in return, and they're both kissing, graceless with passion and desire. It was sloppy and unpracticed, and time felt as if it was both moving too fast and completely stationary.

 

Stiles needed... he needed... He made a muted whimpering noise against Derek's lips, and then Derek's lops were parting fully, allowing Stiles' tongue access. His mouth was hot, so much hotter than Stiles had expected, and Stiles' teeth click against Derek's clumsily, but Stiles wouldn't change any of it for all the world.

 

The kiss deepened, turning hot and wet and filthy, as if Derek was pouring every suppressed desire and every hidden want into it. Stiles didn't hesitate in reciprocating wholeheartedly, because _Derek Hale_ was in his arms, and he might never be able to have this again.

 

One if Derek's hands find their way under the teen's hoodie and t-shirt, rucking up the layers of clothing, and suddenly all Stiles could think of was how much they both needed to have less clothes on _right now._ Whimpering appreciatively into Derek's mouth caused the man to redouble his efforts at attempting to map Stiles' back with his fingertips.

 

But it still wasn't enough.

 

Shifting his arms down from Derek's hair, he began tugging at the hem of the man's shirt, attempting to pull it off him without the two of them having to part.

 

Derek broke the kiss, pulling away. Stiles tried to follow him with a moan of protest, promptly muffled when he notices Derek pulling his henley over his head and tossing it aside.

 

Somewhat self-consciously, despite everything, Stiles peels away his own hoodie and t-shirt.

 

As he too throws his shirt aside, he meets Derek's eyes. Derek's gaze is heated. His eyes are full of desperation, and desire, and the slightest hint of nervousness. But there was no doubting that he wanted this as badly as Stiles did.

 

“You know I've never...” Derek started, as they both stand there staring at each other.

 

“I know,” Stiles preempted, “You’ve never been with another guy.”

 

“It's not that obvious,” Derek protested moodily, “Plus I have more experience than you”.

 

Stiles chuckles, leaning forward and pressing a chaste kiss to the man's lips. “No, its really not.” He admits, “I just guessed, because I know you. Thats all”.

 

Derek kissed him by way of reply.Stiles felt like there was a lifetime of kissing Derek which he'd been missing out on, just waiting to be unlocked and set free. A lifetime of running his hands along the man's chiseled chest, a lifetime of breathing in the layered scents layered upon his skin.

 

“Do you trust me?” Derek eventually asks, looking for a minute as if he was genuinely uncertain of the answer he'd receive.

 

Stiles practically beamed at him. “Yes!” he said, voice hoarse with desire “... how are we going to do this?”

 

When Derek promptly lifted him up and over one shoulder like a caveman, Stiles found he wasn't properly prepared for the response. Not that he was complaining. God, was he ever not complaining.

 

Taking a handful of long strides across the room, Derek threw Stiles down on the bed, the boys loose-limbed body bouncing slightly on the firm mattress.

 

“Mmm, I like caveman Derek”, Stiles remarked, still lying flat on the mattress, his eyes hooded and dark.

 

Derek growls softly by way of reply. Focussing himself on Stiles' jeans, he began tearing at the buttons and zipper like they had personally offended them.

 

Having removed the offensive jeans and boxers, he striped his own jeans and underwear methodically. Stiles is transfixed, heart beating double time as he found himself for the first time confronted with the enormity of what was about to happen. Derek languidly crawled up the bed toward Stiles, lavishing his attention along the teen's entire body in the form of soft nips and bruising kisses.

 

Stiles was practically vibrating out of his skin with need by the time Derek's body drew level with Stiles', pinning him to the mattress while Derek turned his attention to the boys's bared neck.

 

“Are you sure?” Derek asked, in between attempts to give Stiles an assortment of hickeys.

 

“Yes, you asshole! Just hurry up and do something!”, he practically begged, voice thick with desire.

 

“Rude” Derek retorted, rummaging around in a draw by his bed for the tube of lubricant. Moving off the teen, he effortlessly flipped him over so his back and ass were bared.

 

“Do you want to, or can I?” Derek asked, just to be sure.

 

“You do it,” came the answer, “just fucking hurry up!”

 

“Impatient, aren’t' we” Derek chuckled, despite the fact that he was already slicking up three of his fingers.

 

All of a sudden, there was a thick finger pressing into him which wasn't his own, and Stiles' heart skipped, then tried to beat out of his chest.

 

'Hooly shit”, he breathed out, pupils blown so barely even thin ring of brown could be seen.

 

 

Derek moaned in appreciation, as he refocused his attention on Stiles' neck while working the teen open slowly with his fingers.

 

Stiles was gasping for airby the time Derek had reached three fingers, breathing heavily as he felt every lick and nip like a searing brand. As hefelt the burn of Derek's fingers moving inside him recede, he began to grow impatient.

 

“Hurry up!” he demanded petulantly, “I don't have all day”.

 

 

“Well in that case...” Derek responded, trailing off with a wicked grin and removing his fingers in one smooth motion.

 

Stiles made an embarrassing whimper. The emptiness was like nothing he'd ever experienced in his life before. But before he could make another snarky comment or demand, Derek's cock was pressing at his entrance.

 

Stiles gasped with pain despite himself, and took a shuddering breath. The burn was way more painful than he'd imagined, even despite the preparation, and his body was seemingly attempting to fend the intrusion. At the same time though, he felt more more whole than he'd ever felt in his life before.

 

“Move! Move! Please Derek” he began to beg, as the burn finally began to faded and a sense of desperation and longing set it.

 

Derek cries out, hands gripping with bruising tightness to Stiles' hips, and begins to thrust. Stiles' cock rubs up against the soft cotton sheets in time with the unhurried rhythm Derek was setting.

 

All of a sudden, Derek shifted the angle of his hips just so, and Stiles saw white, and stars.

 

“Fuck!” Stiles cried out, in a haze of shock and pleasure “don't stop.. whatever that was”.

 

“God, Stiles, you're so perfect” Derek praised by way of reply, “Look at you, all spread out and open for me”. Stiles moaned embarrassingly at the praise and his level of arousal ratcheted up another few notches. Obviously praise was definitely a thing for him. Who knows, maybe even a kink.

 

Lifting Stiles to his knees, Derek began to take him apart setting an almost punishing rhythm, while reaching around so he could simultaneously stroke Stiles' neglected cock.

 

Distantly, Stiles is aware of Derek murmuring fragmented praises into his skin, but Stiles cannot spare the time to decipher them. All too soon he is coming in long, shuddering pulses, and collapsing forward onto his elbows.

 

Derek holds his hips and drives into him hard, through Stiles' aftershocks, until he too is crying out, fingers leaving angry purple marks on the younger man's hips.

 

“Well.. that escalated... quickly,” Stiles pants out, an ear-splitting grin on his face.

 

“Jokes, Stiles, really?” Derek deadpanned in response, arranging them both on their sides so they're fitted together on the bed like spoons, with Stiles at Derek's back.

 

They lapse into comfortable silence.  
  
“Just... next time, leave the ideas to me, okay?” Stiles murmurs into Derek's neck after a long stretch time, fingers idly mapping path along Derek's side.

 

“Stiles...” Derek warned, attempting to be menacing but belied by the playful twang in his tone.

 

“All I'm saying is that historically your plans have a pretty strong track record of sucking, dude...”

 

Derek growled playfully, spinning Stiles around onto his back before pouncing on top of the boy once again, silencing his insolence with a passionate kiss.

 

\- - -

 

Later that day, a small sheaf of paper was slipped under the door of Derek's loft, detailing the proper Enochian wards to protect Stiles' house from the sight and presence of angels, along with a warning that the Winchesters would be paying very close attention to Beacon Hills.

 

Stiles smiled to himself quietly. You may not be able to win them all, he knew, but he figured he'd come damn close to winning this time.

 

Derek called out to him from the bed, asking him what was wrong. Stiles turned away from the door, grin spreading, and began running, arms flailing, through the apartment yelling and waving the sheaf about excitedly.

 

“Derek! Derek look!”

 

Everything was going to be okay.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and critique appreciated. Also follow me at [becauseyouaremyalpha](http://www.becauseyouaremyalpha.tumblr.com) on Tumblr for way more fun.


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